A Charlie Brown Christmas Obsession

Being overseas for the holidays is essentially a depressing affair. There is no way to describe the cultural "-isms" that go into holiday traditions until they're gone. For example, more than one American holiday, such as the 4th of July, whizzed by unnoticed because there were no sale ads on TV to remind me. Sad, but true.

When I was living in Philly, I don't think I gave the Charlie Brown cartoon special more than a passing "awwww, isn't that cute". It certainly didn't drudge up the loads of nostalgia I now feel hearing the music or watching the program. Now, the whole of my Christmas season gets channeled into "A Charlie Brown Christmas". It all started with the soundtrack, which I bought when I first got hooked on jazz in college. I dig Vince Guaraldi's takes on the holiday standards and there are few holiday albums I enjoy more. This soundtrack goes wherever I go – Philly, Cairo, Oslo. Most unfortunately, the CD disappeared in one the many airport raids on my suitcase sometime last year.

My attempts to purchase the soundtrack in Oslo have utterly failed. My queries are met with blank looks and indifference. Granted, such a query prolly wouldn't be met with enthusiasm either in the US, but at least I know the salesperson and I share a solidarity of experience. We know the story, we know how pathetic Charlie Brown is and we know that Snoopy always steals the show. In the days before video and DVD, what kid didn't look forward to seeing the Christmas special that came only once a year? The anticipation was huge. This and "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" practically launched the Christmas season.

In a lot of ways, it was easier to be in Cairo for Christmas than it is to be Oslo. Christmas didn't really exist in Cairo and the holiday was what we ex-pats made it. Here, there is real Christmas, but it's not my Christmas. All of the things the Norwegians do to celebrate the holiday remind me constantly that something is missing, that something is not quite right. While it's been fun to introduce Charlie Brown and the Grinch to my friends, it doesn't even come close to filling the void the holiday season creates. All of the small details that make up the bigger picture of the holiday season are gone: people complaining that Christmas advertising starts too early, people complaining that it's too commercial, the latest economic indicators based on Black Friday, the Hanukah greetings, the Kwanzaa greetings, the non-committal non-religious Holiday Greetings, the food, the tasty holiday cookies, the nasty holiday cookies, the traffic, the dopey Santa Clauses that turn up in every mall, the food bank drives, the call for volunteers and money, the annual reports on how not to get buried under holiday credit card bills, the new TV Christmas specials, the old TV Christmas specials, the irritating radio ads, WPRB's holiday broadcast, the decorations, et al.

This year, Amazon will deliver the little bit of Guaraldi magic I'm missing. This year, I'll come one step closer to making Norwegian Christmas my own with Anders' family. And this year, I'll miss my family so much it hurts, just as it does every year I'm not with them for the holidays.

Justice

I saw a documentary on TV the other night that showed how modern technology and ancient traditions have warped the male-female demographics in places such as India, Pakistan and China. Ultra-sound lets expectant couples know the gender of the fetus and a number of couples elect to abort the female fetuses. None of this is particularly new, per se, but the consequences of messing with the gender balance struck me.

The cause of the uneven boy-girl ratio is directly linked to the medical safety of modern abortion practices. It is far easier to abort a fetus you've never met than to kill a baby that's already born. The number abortions has dropped the female population in some areas by 30%. While female infanticide is nothing new, this gaping imbalance suggests that abortions have made the decision easier. It was heart wrenching for as a viewer to watch orphanages collect the unwanted baby girls that had been abandoned. The younger babies had it easier since the older babies were often abused and malnourished, all the while crying for their parents. The report made it clear that these new abortion practices are happening in all classes and strata of society. This phenomenon is not restricted to only the poor or uneducated.

The first generation with these reduced numbers is now old enough to marry. So many of the eligible men cannot find wives simply because there are not enough women. Women, as a commodity, are becoming rare. The men who realize they have no hope of finding a wife tend to become depressed or become addicted to drugs or alcohol or turn to crime to increase their financial standing. Ironically, if or when these men do finally marry, they still prefer boys, thereby perpetuating the system that has made their lives hell. The dowry continues to make women a liability in the societies that ask for a dowry. Fathers wouldn’t dream of, say, asking for money for their daughters because of the long standing attitudes on the worthlessness of women.

The documentary ended with the typical doomsday “something must be done or else” message. For the first time in a long time, I disagree. Something must not be done. This is justice for the men who feel that their daughters “are not worth the rice they feed them”. This is justice for not giving women rights or respect. This is justice for the pain the wives have felt in aborting the babies that they wanted to keep. So I say let the men continue to press their wives to have only boys. Let these men drown in their worthiness and live in society without women.

Do Muppets Rap?

The answer is yes. I'm not talking about Jim Henson's creations, though. I'm talking about Scandanavian hip-hop. It's only natural that hip-hop is found here, since it's found in just about every corner of the globe. What's weird is how certain Scandie pop-artists do not adapt hip-hop to their own culture or language. Many rappers choose English over the various Scandie languages for reasons ranging from it sounds better to reaching a wider audience to sounding more "real". The Norwegian flash-in-the-pan phenom, Whimsical, is a brilliant case in point.

The boy bought American glitter-ghetto wholesale from a one-stop shop. His songs are lifted from XYZ West Coast gansta from da' burbs and placed directly on top of Oslo. This is why I broke out in hysterical laughter the first time I heard his song. There are no bitches and ho's in Oslo, the city isn't dirty, the ghetto is a place where I take my parents, the streets are clean and the people are nice and play by the rules. (Crossing the street on a red light elicits admonishments from passers-by in the ghetto: "What kind of example do you think you're setting for our children?")

That Whimsical and other Scandie hip-hoppers try to act like they come from an inner-city culture they can't even begin to fathom drives me to ridicule them openly and loudly. They imitate a culture that is not their own, in language that is not their own and they rightly look like the fucking hey-ho hip-hop clowns they are.

To the credit of several Scandie rappers, there exists a minority of characters who will rap in their own Norwegian/Swedish/ Danish dialects. This music is their own, and while it's not as glam as DJ Kid Wannabe, it's worth mentioning. The first is Gatas Parliament, i.e., The Street's Parliament. They are not very good rappers, but their lyrics at least reflect the real problems of Oslo such as immigrant rights, mafias, shady business deals, Norway's involvement in Iraq and Afghanistan, et. al. As activists, they only pop up when they got something to protest.

The second group is Ravi and DJ Løv. In short, they make pop songs that are heavily laced with word play that starts with their name: Ravi is Ivar spelled backwards and Løv is pronounced "love", but as "Lov" it means "Law" in Norwegian. When not in the studio, DJ Løv studied law and recently passed the bar. These guys have a great sense of humor, laugh at themselves (and others) and have a great command of dialect, slang and drop tons of references to things that only Norwegians would know. I've learned a lot about Norwegian pop-culture by pestering Anders with lots of "what does this mean" and "what are they talking about". Lastly, I give Ravi credit for acknowledging that he looks like a garden gnome. If it wasn't for the humor, none of this work at all. You can check out some of their videos at Nok Records. “E-ore” (“The L-Word”) has probably been their biggest song to date.

Of the Swedish rappers, I dig Timbuktu and Snook. Timbuktu is prolly the best thing going in Scandie hip-hop. He's energetic, smart, writes a good (Swedish) flow and doesn't try to be anything other than Swedish. He does, however, adopt some nice african beats or guitar, like in this song, "Alla vill till himmelen" (Everyone Wants to Go to Heaven) or get a bit funky in "Det Löser Sig" (It'll Work Out). If you click through to "Alla vill till himmelen", hang in there until at least 1:25 - the first bit is just an intro to the song. I've heard that his live shows are amazing, though I can't tell you personally since they sell out in all of about 20 minutes. hmph.

This year, the Swedish rap sensation was Snook with their hit "Svett och Tårar" (Sweat & Tears). I can't understand half of what they're saying because they go soooo fast, but that's OK. From the bits I can gather they talk about themselves, other rappers and I suspect blood, sweat and tears. (Wild guess, yo) Of the song, I dig the horn section and it's got a freakin' great hook. The video, however, is damn cute and I love the penguins...

There you have it, folks. This is my all too brief survey of Scandie hip-hop. It's brief only because I limited myself to ridiculing just one of the many artists like Whimsical. I could go on, but I think I've made my point. It took me a long, long time to stop laughing at the Muppet Language as a hip-hop medium and appreciate those to dared to rap in the language they know best. Learning the language helped me to stop laughing long enough to listen, though you might not ever stop chuckling. God help ya.